


Welcome to Night Vale Behavioral Health

by Corrosive_Moon



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Mental Institution, doctor! carlos, patient! cecil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corrosive_Moon/pseuds/Corrosive_Moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night Vale Behavioral Health was dubious at best and borderline illegal at worst.  But the was one thing Carlos Reyes knew for sure was that Cecil Palmer was absolutely nuts.  Or at least... that's what he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Orientation

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

Looking back, Carlos Reyes realized that he had a multitude of warnings before he decided to accept the job offer as a resident for Night Vale Behavioral Health.  Maybe if he knew then what he knew now he wouldn’t be sprawled on his back on the couch, nursing a nearly-empty glass of whiskey that did nothing to alleviate the feeling of being utterly overwhelmed.

Cecil Palmer…  now _there_ was an interesting case.  Eight years of medical school, four years of residency at Night Vale General Hospital, and an additional four years of residency at the State Mental Insitution did nothing to prepare him for that lanky, fair-haired monstrosity of a basket case.

Carlos looked to his coffee table where his laptop was still displaying Cecil’s massive file.  Cecil Palmer, age 27, undifferentiated schizophrenic.  Symptoms include hallucinations, delusions, paranoia, acute psychosis, memory loss, inappropriate affect, insomnia… the list goes on and on.  The poor man was also on a rainbow of drugs that were strong enough to keel over a full-grown bull elephant. Nothing seemed to touch Cecil Palmer. 

 The dark-skinned man rubbed his temple.

* * *

_“And this will be your office, Dr. Reyes,” said Dana, a caramel-skinned therapist with a tuff of curly ebony hair on her head.  She opened the door and paused.  “Oh, Dr. Carlsburg.”_

_Carlos peered through the doorway and saw a dirty blonde, freckly man holding a cardboard box in his hands.  He waved the interruption off. “Don’t worry about it, Dana,” he said.  “Just getting a few things.” He caught sight of Carlos.  “You must be my replacement.”_

_“Dr. Carlos Reyes,” Carlos introduced, holding his hand out.  The other doctor shook the offered hand cordially._

_“Dr. Steve Carlsburg,” he said.  “Feel free to call me Steve.”  Suddenly he jerked Carlos towards him and hissed into his ear. “Run.  For the love of God, man, RUN.”  Without further ado he snatched up his box and scurried out._

_Carlos scratched his chin and looked to Dana, who sighed audibly. “I’m sorry, Dr. Carlsburg is… well, he’s not well.”_

_“I can tell,” the doctor said, concerned.  “Should I be worried?”_

_“No, no!  Not at all!” Dana said a bit too quickly._

_Carlos frowned and as he shoved his hands into his white coat pocket he noticed that Dr. Carlsburg had slipped something into his sleeve.  A card, judging by the feel of it.  He had an impulse to tell Dana about it, but he squared his jaw and decided to go on with the tour._

* * *

Carlos fingered the card.  There was only a string of numbers on it, no doubt Steve Carlsburg’s number.  Before he knew it Carlos had dialed in in the number on his smart phone and was waiting for the line to pick up.

_“Hello?”_

“Dr. Carlsburg?”

 _“Steve,”_ Steve corrected.  _“Hello, Dr. Reyes.  So, I take it you met him?”_

Carlos chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “Yeah.”

* * *

_“So how long have you been here, Dana?” Carlos asked._

_“Five years or so,” Dana replied, obviously proud.  “Old Woman Josie’s been at this gig far longer than any of us, though.”_

_Carlos gawked at her, astonished that someone would address their head administrator with such a title.  Dana laughed._

_“Everyone calls her that,” she assured him._

_Carlos recalled Josie clearly.  She was a round, unassuming old woman with graying hair and a blatant grandmotherly air around her.  She had interviewed him for the position and, surprisingly, offered him the job on the spot._

_“Well, I’m surprised they hired you since you’re so young-looking,” Dana went on.  Carlos was actually grateful to hear that since usually his premature touch of gray at his temples made him look older._

_“I _’m surprised as well_ ,” Carlos chuckled.  “This is actually my first official psychiatric position.”_

_“Oh, really?” Dana was surprised._

_"I am a certified psychiatrist," Carlo argues politely.  Though he omitted that he barely passed the certification exam weeks ago._

_“Well, I’m sure Josie knows what she’s doing.  Anyway, here’s the adult unit and if you’ll excuse me, Doctor, I need to get back to work.  I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow for your rounds.”_

* * *

_“Creepy bastard, isn’t he?”_ Steve said.

Carlos couldn’t even reply.  Creepy just didn’t cover it.  Steve was kind enough to give him enough time to work out a sentence.

“...He certainly is something,” Carlos said at last.

_“There’s a reason why no resident doctor lasted more than a few months there.  Cecil sends them all running to the hills screaming.  I don’t even know how I lasted as long as I did.”_

“What is he?  Undifferentiated schizophrenia with psychosis doesn’t even begin to describe him.  I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I feel we’re going in the wrong direction.  I mean, look at the meds he’s on: Lexapro, Adderal, Lithium, Zyprexa, Seroquel, Ambien, Ativan—Jesus— _Thorazine,_ and Haldol _._ **[1]**   He’s been on these medications for about a year and nothing has worked.  There has to be more too it.”

_“Cecil’s had two CAT scans, three MRIs, one X-ray, one EEG, and three CSF analyses.  He’s had a psychologist and neurologist take a look at him, both of whom were baffled and terrified.  All of the scans show nothing, nada, zip, zero.  EEG was normal, CSF fluids were crystal clear.  Nothing is wrong with him he’s just… batshit crazy.”_

“That, and…”

* * *

_The next morning, Carlos met Cecil for the first time.  After listening to a drug-seeking patient beg for more Xanax and a paranoid schizophrenic claim that he was the son of God and that Carlos’ skin color was an abomination, watching Cecil Palmer stroll into his office with a smile on his face and his arms swinging at his sides was a welcome sight.  He was a not-too-tall and not-too-short man with platinum blonde hair, almost white, swooped back in a trendy fashion.  He wore a clean, dark-purple button up shirt and black cotton slacks._

_“Good morning, Cecil,” Carlos said, turning away from his computer monitor and placing his clipboard on his lap.  “My name is…”_

_“Carlos, right?” Cecil cut him off excitedly.  “Carlos the Psychiatrist.”  Cecil plants himself down in the chair across from Carlos and sighs happily.  “I’m_ so _happy to finally meet you!”_

_Oh dear, his first day and already a patient was getting way too attached to him.  Carlos makes a few notes on his blank sheet under Cecil’s name._

_“I’m glad to hear that you’re doing so well,” Carlos replied professionally.  “Have you been taking all your medications?”_

_“Yes, I have.  I take all of them even though they taste gross.  Yuck!” Cecil made a disgusted face._

_“Well, it’s important to take your medications.”_

_Cecil cocked his head to one side.  “They don’t help me,” he said frankly.  “Like Steve Carlsburg.” He said the name with extra malice._

_“Thankfully, I’m not Dr. Carlsburg,” Carlos said. “Dr. Carlsburg resigned.”_

_“Good.” Cecil looked particularly smug about that fact._

_“Did you want Dr. Carlsburg to resign?”_

_“He was a jerk.”_

_“Do you wish harm on him?”_

_“No, I just wanted him to go away because he was an asshole.”_

_Carlos resisted the urge to laugh. “I see that the subject of Dr. Carlsburg is upsetting you, Cecil.  Would you like to talk about something else?”_

_Cecil perked up immediately. “Yes, I’d like to talk about you.”_

_“It’s not appropriate to talk about myself during this time.  This time is about you.”_

_“I want to talk about you,” Cecil insisted._

_“All right, how about this: I’ll tell you about myself if you talk to me about yourself.  Sound fair?”_

_“Sounds like_ Silence of the Lambs _, but okay.  You go first!” Cecil chirped, scooting to the edge of his seat and looking at Carlos expectantly._

_“All right, I’m thirty years old and I’m a doctor.”_

_“I already know that, I want to hear something more interesting.”_

_For a moment, Carlos is confused about Cecil’s answer.  But he supposes that the information could have been deduced from his appearance and ID badge.  “I was born in Mexico and I moved here to the United States when I was nine.”_

_“I already know that too.” Cecil pouted. “I want to hear something more interesting.”_

_Already, Carlos felt that he was losing control of the conversation.  Perhaps it was time to send Cecil on his way before things got really out of hand._

_“Cecil—“_

_“I want to know why you resigned from your job at Night Vale General.  It wasn’t your fault that woman died.”_

_Carlos dropped his pen.  The sound of it landing on the tile floor was like a cymbal crash in the ensuing silence.  Even though he knew it was highly unprofessional, Carlos raised his head and stared at his patient._

_“E-Excuse me?” he stuttered._

_“It wasn’t your fault that woman died.  The nurse took a bad history.  The woman only spoke Spanish.  And the nurse didn’t speak Spanish too well, so when she asked the woman what medications she was on, she didn’t understand that the woman was also on a blood-thinner.  So it wasn’t your fault she bled to death.”_

* * *

“…and he knows things.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] “Lexapro, Adderal, Lithium, Zyprexa, Seroquel, Ambien, Ativan—Jesus—Thorazine and Haldol,” For all of you out there who aren’t psyche personnel, this is a SHITLOAD of strong medications. Thorazine and Haldol are VERY strong meds there are very few doctors in the area I work i will actually prescribe those medications and those are only for the absolute WORSE patients.


	2. A Word from Therapist Dana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carlos considers that Cecil may or may not be insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changing to 3rd person present because consistent 3rd person past is starting to get to me.  
> |Corrosive Moon|

The next phone call Carlos makes is in the wee hours of the morning. Swallowing a couple of ibuprofen capsules with a full glass of water, he pulls up the NVBH directory on his laptop and finds the number he needs.

 _“Hello?”_ answers a calm voice.

“Dana? It’s Carlos. Sorry to call you so early.”

_“No, I understand. You met Cecil yesterday, didn’t you?”_

His silence was enough to queue another response. _“When I first met him he told me my Dad was an asshole and he was going to get hit by a bus. Three weeks later, my dad got hit by a bus.”_

Carlos sucks in his breath. “I need to talk with you more about Cecil. I’ve never seen anything like him.”

 _“Why, Doctor Reyes, you've only been officially in the psychiatric field for about a day!”_   Dana jokes.

Carlos feels her teasing was rather tactless, but he does appreciate her attempt at cheer him up. “Are you free for lunch?” he asks.

* * *

“I apologize for upsetting you yesterday,” Cecil says to him that morning in his office. His slim shoulders are hunched and he seems genuinely sad. “I was just so excited to meet you. Sometimes I can’t control myself.”

“It’s okay, Cecil,” Carlos says. Today, he has set aside the pen and paper and is fiddling with an old camera he had wrenched free from the bowels of his closet. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to video tape our conversations. It’ll help me understand you better.”

Cecil looks thrilled. “Really? You want to understand _me?_ ”

“Yes, but I need your formal permission.” Carlos holds up a freshly printed copy of the consent, clips it into a clipboard and holds it out to his patient.

“Yes, of course!” Cecil complies, taking the clipboard.

“Here let me get you a pen—“

“No!” Cecil says sharply. “I don’t use pens. Writing utensils have been banned by the City Council.”

Carlos is itching to write this tidbit of information down and he considers asserting that there had never been a ban on pens but first and foremost: he needs Cecil to sign the form.  After a quick call to a psyche tech **[1]** —who completely understands the reason for his request—Cecil is provided with a small jar of black watercolor paint and signs his name proudly.

“I want to talk about yesterday," Carlos starts promptly after the video camera has been set up. "How did you know about the woman at the hospital?”

Cecil frowns. “You won’t believe me. No one believes me.”

“I’m not interested in what _I_ believe. I want to know what _you_ believe,” Carlos presses on.

“I just know.” Cecil shrugs.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Hm.”

“It’s so simple and yet _no one_ seems to understand!” Cecil falls back into the chair and huffs dramatically. “There’s no big mystery or weird trick. I know because I know. And yet everyone thinks it’s the strangest thing!”

“Have you always had this talent?”

“For as long as I remember.” Cecil nods.

“Could you tell me about your childhood?”

Cecil kicks his legs idly. “Pretty normal, really. Boy scouts, municipally approve books, bloodstone circles. My mother was a lovely woman.  Absolutely beautiful and kind. She would always say to me: ‘someone’s going to kill you one day, Cecil, and it will involve a mirror. Mark, my words, child.’ And then she would stare absently through my eyes… until I giggled.” At this, present day Cecil giggled. “Ah, I miss her.”

Carlos really wants a pen right now. “Your mother told you that?”

“Mm-hm.”

“…Tell me more.”

* * *

The conversation about Cecil’s family unfortunately gets nowhere. Cecil ends up talking about The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home and—while she means well—he was getting tired of how she kept rearranging his furniture and pantry.

Carlos wishes he could have taken notes about it. These characters Cecil believes in must be linked to something in his psyche. Something must have happened to this patient, psychiatric disorders don't just materialize out of thin air.  The thought of digging through the muddled mess of Cecil's mind, of finding that _one truth_ , is enough to get Carlos' right knee bouncing with excitement as he waits for the lunch hour to roll by.  Hopefully, his meeting with Dana will be able to shed some light.

Dana’s office is nice and painted with warm gold and brown colors that are reminiscent of a desert or perhaps autumn. Each wall is decorated by abstract art that complements the color scheme of the room. In one corner, there are children’s games and toys for pediatric therapy and on the other side there is a small shelf of books on various subjects.  Above her desk, are a few framed certificates.

Dana sets a pizza slice in front of Carlos. “Eat up, no one does a slice like Big Rico’s,” she said, and then laughs to herself.

“Something funny?” Carlos asks as he eats.

“Just something Cecil told me once. He sure is something, isn’t he?”  she says as she settles down into her office chair.

“I’m thinking that he’s also autistic. He certainly shows some of the characteristics of autism: isolation, poor social skills… If his autism manifested as a gift for reading body language and minute facial expression—a mentalist sort of deal, I suppose you could say—maybe that could account for why he can deduce such disconcerting information. I’ve also noticed that his psychosis isn’t always consistent. Yesterday, he had no problem with me using a pen and today he insisted that there was some sort of ban by City Council on them and…” It takes him a bit too long to notice that Dana hasn’t interrupted him during his rambling and he looks up to see her carefully munching on her pizza slice.

“I’m letting you rationalize to get it out of your system,” she says around a mouthful of food.

“There _has_ to be a logical explanation. There has to be.”

She makes a non-committal hum and takes another bite out of her pizza. “Carlos, do yourself a favor and don’t work yourself up over this. Look, I’ve been with Cecil since he first came in—“

“What was he like?” Carlos cuts her off. “I’ve read the intake notes but I’d like to have a first-hand summary.”

Dana doesn’t seem to mind the interruption. “I don’t have anything else to add to the official report. EMTs found him wandering the desert, near-death with dehydration, and brought him to Night Vale General. He told the nurse about a five-headed dragon named Hiram McDaniels who also happens to have a blog expressing his opinions to run for mayor and they shipped him here. He’s been here ever since.”

“Are they any public records on him? School pictures? Birth records? Photos?”

“Nothing. It’s kind of like he just sort of appeared.” She smiles.

“People don’t just appear,” Carlos stipulates. “Cecil has a mother and a brother.”

“Regardless, the name Cecil Palmer isn’t anywhere in this city’s records. I’ve already checked.”

“How is it he’s been able to stay here this long? This is a short-term facility. A patient like Cecil belongs in a long-term psyche ward like the state hospital.”

“I am not sending Cecil to that place.” Dana’s face clouds with anger.  Her figure, which had been relaxed as she ate, straightens up into a professional and rigid posture.  “He doesn’t belong there.”

“If he’s a patient who isn’t improving in our care it’s only common sense to send him to a facility that’s more suited to his needs,” Carlos argues.

The therapist takes a sip of water from a plastic glass. “We tried to transfer him to the state hospital seven times. The first time, the ambulance’s tires blew out right just as it left our property. We called another ambulance shortly after that and it never arrived, even through there were a few statements from witnesses who saw the vehicle leave but it just … never came. The ambulance and the EMTs were never heard from again. The news must have gotten around because that’s when it started getting harder for us to find an ambulance service to transport Cecil.  Or any other patients for that matter.” Dana starts counting off the incidences with her fingers.

“The third time, all of the EMTs ran out screaming and abandoned their vehicle and equipment right at our front door step for some reason. Fourth time, we couldn’t find Cecil… at all. Fifth time, all ambulance services refused. Sixth time, I believe that was with Dr. Marco trying to do the transfer. He was very adamant to drive Cecil to the state hospital himself since no ambulance would take him. So they leave together in Dr. Marco's car.  Then, three hours later, Cecil walked up to the intake counter and asked if dinner was ready. We haven’t seen Dr. Marco ever since. The seventh time... Hmmm… that came shortly after Dr. Marco’s disappearance. A police cruiser came by to put Cecil in the state hospital. The car blew up.”

Carlos blanches.

“Oh, the officer wasn’t inside it. He’s fine.”

Carlos feels himself sliding down Dana’s faux leather couch. “What is _your_ opinion on Cecil, then?”

“Hardly any different than the official diagnosis: Undifferentiated schizophrenia with psychosis,” Dana says simply. “But that aside, I would have to say he’s a nice man. He’s unorganized sometimes, and a little strange, but relatively harmless."

“Yesterday, he… he said something to me. Something I’m certain he shouldn’t be able to know.”

“Ah, unsettling, isn’t it?” She smiles.

“How can you be so calm about it?” Carlos asks. “How can you have a patient—a puzzle—like Cecil but not want to understand him completely?”

“Because once you’ve known Cecil for a while you learn to take the things he does in stride.” She stands up and pulls open a file cabinet. She hauls out a small cardboard box and places it in front of him.

“These are my earliest tapes of mine and Cecil’s conversations,” she explained. “Listen to them. Maybe they’ll help you understand why Cecil is simply… Cecil.”

* * *

Once home, Carlos wastes no item in finding a tape recorder and placing in Dana’s first tape. He plants himself at his dining table, pen and paper at the ready, and hits play.

 _“July 19 th, 2012, 13:30,”_ Dana announces. _“Patient is Cecil Palmer. Diagnosis: Undifferentiated schizophrenia with psychosis. First contact with patient."_ There is a pause, then the tape starts again. _"Hello, Cecil.  How are you doing today?”_

 _“Fine, Dana,”_ Cecil responds happily. _“How are you?”_

Dana laughs softly. _“I’m doing great, thanks for asking. So, do you know why you’re here at this facility, Cecil?”_

_“Um, I think it’s because people don’t like that I support Hiram McDaniels for mayor.”_

_“Hiram McDaniels, the five-headed dragon?”_

_“The very same! I especially enjoy reading his blog! He’s a very smart fellow!”_

_“The dragon?”_ Dana asks, clearly puzzled.

 _“Mm-hm. While I do acknowledge that the Sheriff’s Secret Police do have a right to detain people for even the vaguest reasons for our safety, I still feel that putting me in a psychiatric ward is taking it a little too far.”_ Cecil sighs. _“I’d sure like to go home.”_

_“You can go home, Cecil. But we need to make sure you’re better first.”_

_“Is there something wrong with me?”_ Cecil questions, worried.

 _“No, nothing, but you see…”_ Dana pauses. _“There are no such things as five-headed dragons. Or Secret Police. You must know that.”_

Silence on the tape.

 _“You shouldn’t say things like that, Dana,”_ Cecil says at last. _“The Secret Police watch everything. You’re very nice. I don’t want them to re-educate you.”_

A pause.

 _“Stop!”_ Cecil cries out suddenly.

 _“Cecil!”_ Dana shouts.

 _“You mustn’t write with a pen, Dana!”_ Cecil says sternly. _“The City Council banned them! They’re forbidden!”_

 _“Cecil,”_ Dana says this with a tone one would use on a misbehaving child. _“Cecil, please, I’ve always used pens. I’ve used them today, yesterday and all my life and nothing has happened to me. The nurses and the doctors outside this office have used pens all their lives too. There has never been a ban on pens in this city. There are no Secret Police or five-headed dragons. Do you understand?”_

Another long silence.

 _“You seem upset,”_ Dana says.

 _“I’m afraid for you.”_ Cecil replies.

_“What makes you say that?”_

_“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you. Terrible things have been happening to you all your life, but you’re still a wonderful and nice. You genuinely want to help people. I like that about you.”_

_“What do you mean ‘terrible things’?”_

_“Well, like your father. He was an asshole.”_

_“Beg pardon?”_

_“He should have drunk less and loved his children more. You have to stop judging yourself by his standards because you_ are _better than him. But don’t worry, in about another three weeks he’s going to get hit by a bus.”_

Carlos pauses the tape and scribbles a few notes on his paper. It seems that Cecil is not only able to see the past, but the future as well. He can even discern emotional components of specified incidents. Carlos sighs and taps the end of his pen against his table. Then, he reaches over to the tape player and continues.

 _“July 20 th, 2012. 13:30,” _Dana states. She sounds less composed this time. _“Hello, Cecil.”_

 _“Good afternoon, Dana,”_ Cecil replies. _“You look concerned today.”_

_“I am, Cecil. How did you know about my father? Who told you?”_

_“No one told me,”_ Cecil answers, simply. _“I just know.”_

_“How? How you can know something so personal about me?”_

There is a pause. _“I just think about what I want to know. Then I know.”_

_“Can you tell me something else?”_

_“Okay.”_

_“Can you tell me the name of my pet when I was a child?”_

Cecil giggles. _“That’s funny.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Because you never had a pet as a child. Your parents wouldn’t let you.”_

_“July 21 st, 2012. 14:00,” _Dana announces. _“Patient is Cecil Palmer. Diagnosis: Undifferentiated schizophrenia with psychosis.”_

_“Cecil?”_

No response.

_“Cecil, can you hear me?”_

_“THE GLOW CLOUD DOES NOT ANSWER MEANINGLESS QUESTIONS,”_ Cecil intones. _“THE GLOW CLOUD DOES NOT ANSWER THE QUESTIONS OF TINY HUMANS. THE GLOW CLOUD KNOWS ALL. **ALL. HAIL. THE GLOW CLOUD. ALL HAIL.** ”_

_“Cecil? Cecil!”_

Clattering. Dana is calling Cecil’s name, but the sound is farther now.

 _“Cecil, wait!”_ Dana screams. _“Someone! Someone stop him! Get a nurse! Cecil! Cecil!!”_

Carlos quickly looks up the notes on that day. He sees Dr. Lozano (who was resident three doctors before Dr. Carlsberg) filing the one-to-one report. Carlos skims through the required documentation jargon and jumps right into the meat.

 _Today this patient assaulted two psyche techs and one nurse while attempting to leave the unit,_ the report reads.  _Three of the staff members have been sent to the ED, as per protocol. Patient has been restrained using state-approved restraints. Currently, the patient has been medicated with Haldol 2 mg and Ativan 1 mg via IM injection. He is calm, only alert to self. He continues to state, “all hail the glow cloud” to any questions asked by myself or the other staff._ Then the note goes on to Dr. Lozano's recommendations for Cecil's psychiatric medications.  Carlos speed reads through the subsequent notes on Cecil’s restraint, finding nothing else note-worthy, writes ‘glow cloud?’ on his paper, and continues the tape.

 _“A-August 20th, 2012,”_ Dana says shakily. _“Patient is Cecil Palmer. Diagnosis: Undifferentiated Psychosis.”_

 _“Is something wrong, Dana?”_ Cecil asks.

_“My father died today. He was in an automobile accident.”_

_“Ah, I see.”_

_“Just like you said.”_

_“Does that disturb you?”_

_“You ask that as if I should feel… all right with this. You said my father was going to die and he does.”_

Carlos frowns. Dana is letting her patient reverse their roles. He feels that he should reprimand her for this. Perhaps this is how she became too attached to Cecil.

_“People die all the time, Dana. What difference does it make if I tell you or not?”_

_“Where are you from, Cecil? What sort of place accepts someone like you?”_

_“That’s easy.”_ Carlos can practically see Cecil beaming brightly. _“I’m from Night Vale!”_

The tape ends. Carlos picks up the next tape and notes that there is a gap between the first and second tape.  He ponders about this briefly before sticking the tape into the recording and pressing play. 

_“September 1 st, 2012. So, Cecil, Dr. Lozano resigned today.”_

_“Did he?”_ Cecil sounds slightly smug.

 _“You sound happy.”_ Dana sighs. _“Cecil, don’t tell me you had anything to do with that.”_

_“He tried to take me away.”_

_“Wouldn’t you feel that it’s for your own good that you go to another facility that will be able to help you?”_

_“I don’t need help.”_

_“Hm. I see.”_

_“Besides, I’m waiting for someone.”_

At this, Carlos raises his head.

 _“You are?”_ Dana asks, surprised.

_“Yes, I have to stay here. So he can find me. This place, right here, is the best place to meet him.”_

_“You seem so certain.”_

_“Yes, I know it in my heart--beneath my heart, even! Below the sinewy muscles and blood, down to my bones! Down to the last, temporary, perishable fiber of my being, I know! He’ll come here. All I have to do is wait.”_

Carlos presses stop, leans back into his chair, and sits quietly in the dining room.  Carefully, he thinks about how he still has a little bit of whiskey in his pantry.  The thought is cast aside in a few minutes by Carlos' devout professionalism.  So, instead, the doctor calmly rises from his chair, walks to his couch, grabs a throw pillow and screams into it because _seriously what the fuck is going on here?!?!??11??!!_

(He hasn't screamed into pillows since he was a child.)

* * *

 **[1]** psyche tech: trained individuals who watch over psychiatric patients. Many of them don’t hold a license such Certified Nurse Assistance (CNA), as it is not a requirement for the job, but some do.


	3. Momentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos seeks advice. Then, he almost misses it. But he doesn’t.  
> *9/3/14 - removed disclaimer note.

Carlos successfully finishes his rounds on the adult and geriatric units in an unusually quiet manner. After he politely shoos away yet another drug-seeking depressed patient who just _would not_ shut up, Carlos heads to the nurses’ station.

“Where’s Cecil?” He asks.

Judy—or was it June?—looks up from her magazine.

“If he’s not here he’s probably at the children’s unit,” she says, looking intently at a recipe for a succulent mac ‘n’ cheese dinner.

“You let him into the children’s unit?” he asks, more than a little annoyed at the nurse’s lack of duty.

“I didn’t _let_ him,” she retorts with equal parts sass and boredom. “Cecil goes anywhere he wants to. Don’t know how he does it. He just does. Anyway, I heard Tamika’s back, so he’s probably over there hanging out with her.”

“Tamika?”

“Tamika Flynn. Twelve-year-old girl with anger issues, or at least so her idiot parents say.” Judy/June licks the tip of her thumb and turns a page. Suddenly, a patient comes rampaging up to the nurses’ station and begins banging on the glass and screaming. **[1]**

“Hm, must be Thursday,” Judy/June says as she sits up and straightens her scrubs. “If you’ll excuse me, Doctor.”

"Should I order a restraint?" Carlos asks.

"No need, Dr. Reyes.  She just wants her Zyprexa shot,"  Judy/June says, waving him off.

Carlos takes a covert way to the children’s unit. He slides his keycard and opens the door to find Cecil sitting down at one of the small child-sized tables surrounded by a circle of children. His long legs are folded up to his chest as he talks animatedly with them. The kids giggle and laugh.

The children’s unit, strangely enough, was more prone to repairs than the adult unit. The baby-blue walls had multiple patches of new and old paint. The chairs, tables, and windows were often replaced due to violent patients. 

Carlos quickly walks up to a psyche tech. “Is it normal for the staff to allow patients from different units to interact with each other?” he asks, attempting to be some form of authority in this mad house.  

Adam shrugs. “If you can figure out how to keep him out, Doctor, you’re welcome to try. Anyway, the kids like him.”

“Cecil,” Carlos calls.

Cecil catches sight of him. “Oh! Carlos!”

To the psychiatrist’s sheer horror, the entire group of children enact an over-dramatic swoon and sing-song, “Carlooooooos~!” in eerie unison before breaking into peals of laughter. Adam laughs so hard he doubles over in tears.

Cecil rises from his chair and bounds to him. “Good morning, Carlos!” he chirps. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time with the kiddos here.”

“Cecil, you’re not supposed to be in the children’s unit,” Carlos says as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Cecil frowns. “But my friends are here,” he protests.

“It’s hospital policy that we keep the units separate. It’s for the patients’ own good, believe me.”

Cecil looks to a stocky, dark-skinned young girl with her ebony-hair pinned up in two braided pig tails. Carlos figures that must be Tamika Flynn.

Tamika looks back at Cecil with her black eyes and nods. Carlos places his hand at Cecil’s shoulder and proceeds to steer him out of the unit and into his office.

“Dana gave me some of her early tapes of your sessions together,” Carlos says as he gestures for Cecil to sit in the faux leather chair.

“That was very kind of her,” Cecil replies as he sits.

“So you have been waiting for me this entire time?” Carlos looks directly at him, eyes analyzing the other man’s face. “You didn’t want to leave because it would be more difficult for me to find you.”

“Yes!” Cecil practically bounces in his seat. “Now you’re getting it!”

“Why is that so important to you?”

“Because I love you.”

Carlos feels a great urge to drink, followed swiftly by a personal note to question whether or not he is becoming an alcoholic.

“Cecil…” Carlos tries to come up with something else to say but the words refuse to line up correctly. “ _Cecil_ ,” he says again, wearily. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to refer you to another psychiatrist.”

“But I don’t want another one.”

Of course, whatever Cecil wants he seems to get.

“What _do_ you want, Cecil?” Carlos asks.

Cecil ‘s pale cheeks flush darkly. “Well, I dunno, really… I mean, like… I guess… we could get a cup of coffee sometime? When you’re free? Maybe lunch? If you want to also, that is!”

Carlos blinks. “A date?”

His patient’s face is red up to his ears. “Ah—uuuuhh… well, I…” he stammers. “I guess you could—I suppose it’s only right to… call it that.”

“Cecil, this is very unprofessional. I am your psychiatrist. My relationship with you is purely therapeutic.”

The thin man looks like he's about to faint. “We have a relationship?”

Carlos almost slaps his forehead with his palm. “A _professional,_ _therapeutic_ one,” Carlos stresses.

Cecil does not look like he is listening.

* * *

 “So let’s say—hypothetically, of course—that Cecil is some sort of psychopathic, god-like, omniscient super-being,” Carlos says to Dana the next day as they stroll out of NVBH for lunch. “One who clearly has some sort of unhealthy and frankly insane obsession with me.”

“Okay,” Dana says, nodding in amusement.

“Shouldn’t my next step be to resign on the basis of a potential breach professional boundaries?”

“Carlos, he’s been waiting for you for a very long time. Given what he’s done when we’ve tried to transfer him out, what makes you so sure he’s going to just let you walk out of his life?”

Carlos shivers noticeably. “Do you expect me to simply lead him on for my sake?”

“I expect you to love him wholly and unequivocally.” Dana fishes out her keys from her pocket and disarms her car.

They're about 2 minutes into eating their meal at the Moonlight All Night Diner when Carlos finally retaliates.

“...But I don’t _want_ to be the love interest of a psychopathic, god-like, omniscient super-being!” He protests so suddenly Dana almost chokes on her water.

“Maybe Cecil sees that one day you will,” she replies after clearing her throat.

“But that’s a paradox, you see?” Carlos argues. “If I know it and it happens it’s because I know it was going to happen! How am I supposed to be sure that it would happen if I _didn’t_ know it would happen when I _do_ know that it would happen!”

Dana takes a moment to internalize his sentence. "Carlos, you're thinking too much on this," she says. "Look, Cecil wants you to know him better. So get to know him better. It's as simple as that."

Carlos holds his head in his hands and sighs audibly. " _Dios me ayuda_ ," he says.

"You know Cecil likes cute animals. Maybe you can take him to the petting zoo."

"You're an awful therapist."

* * *

 Seeking some solace in someone who hasn’t entirely bought into the Cecil-Is-An-Insane-God-In-Human-Form ideal, Carlos calls up Steve Carlsburg for advice.

“ _You’re fucked,”_ Steve says. _“Like, royally fucked.”_

“You’re not helping.”

_“Hey, man, I told you to run the first day I met you.”_

“What do you think I should do?”

_“Carlos, I think in this situation your only option is to try to look on the bright side of things.”_

“Yes, I think losing my license for breaching the patient-doctor relationship is going to give me a lot of vacation time,” Carlos says dryly.

 _“You’re in a very unique position to see_ exactly _what Cecil is,”_ Steve continues, unperturbed. _“No one knows where Cecil really comes from or how the hell he can do the things he does. If you’re the one investigating, he’ll practically throw the answers at your feet!”_

“You don’t actually think he’s some sort of super-being, do you?”

_“To be honest, I’m wearing a tin foil hat to make sure he won’t mind-scan me.”_

Carlos gives himself a second to let that information sink in. He then spends about another thirty seconds thinking on the proper response to that tidbit of information.

“Thank you for your advice, Steve,” Carlos says at last.

_“Not a problem, Carlos.”_

* * *

 Working his way up the chain of command, Carlos soon finds himself standing outside of Josie’s office that afternoon.

“Oh, Carlos!” she says, looking up from her papers in surprise. Josie removes her reading glasses and scoots up in her chair. “Come in, come in!”

“Dr. Foreman,” Carlos begins.

Josie waves him off. “Carlos, I’ve told you time and time again to please call me ‘Josie.’ Everyone else does, anyway. What can I help you with?”

“I’m having a problem with a patient.”

Josie pulls out a pair of crochet needles and begins to work on what Carlos thinks is a hideous-looking scarf. “Let me guess,” her wrinkled face pulls a surprisingly sly grin. “Is it Cecil?”

“Yes, I’m finding it difficult to treat him given that—“

“He’s such a nice boy. Not all there at times, but he’s very nice. I think you’ll be good for each other,” Josie says thoughtfully, her needles working skillfully. “You know he likes the scarves I make? I know everyone thinks they’re awful, but he genuinely likes them.”

“Josie, he says he loves me,” Carlos speaks up.

“Oh, congratulations!”

“Wait, it’s not—I don’t—Dr. Foreman!” Carlos helplessly protests. “Cecil has, for some strange reason, fallen in love with me and he _does things_ and _knows things_ that normal people can’t possibly know and to be honest I’m freaking out right now and I don’t know what to do!”

Josie looks up at him from her crocheting. Her needles have slowed down some as she turns her attention to him.

“There is nothing that goes on in this place that I don’t know about, Carlos. I’m very aware of the strange things that revolve around Cecil. I’ve been expecting you for some time now. Aside from your impressive credentials, I hired you partly because Cecil was waiting for you.” She sighs and puts her crochet needles down. “I can tell that you already asked for advice from your colleagues and you didn’t like the answers they gave you, so now you’ve come to me. My official opinion is that you should take him out on a date.”

Carlos’ cheeks flare up with embarrassment. He opens his mouth to speak but Josie cuts him off. “Behavioral facilities have gotten better during the years, but all in all they’re still not pleasant places, both for the staff and patients. Cecil has waited patiently for you to come here for about two years. The least you can do is give him one afternoon of your personal time.”

The psychiatrist glances down at his shoes and sighs with a small nod. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Do you think I’ve lived this long because I’m frequently wrong?” Josie chuckles.

Carlos smiles and stands up to leave. “Thank you, Josie,” he says.

“Oh, while you’re up, can you throw these things into the shredder bin **[2]** for me?” the administrator asks, pushing a pile of papers towards him.

Carlos takes the stack of papers and walks over to the bin. As he slips them into the slim opening of the box, he catches sight of a small, triangular logo on a tactfully-designed business card.

Josie notices his interest. “New major shareholders of the hospital,” she explains, going back to her crocheting. “I had to attend one of their meetings recently.  They seemed to be productive fellows."

Carlos holds up the card between his thumb and forefinger and reads aloud. “StrexCorp Synernists Incorporated, huh?” He muses.

* * *

 “What were you doing before you came to this behavioral center, Cecil?” Carlos asks the next day.

“Well, I was a radio host at Night Vale Community Radio,” Cecil replies proudly.

“NVCR?” Carlos taps his pen on his clipboard as he contemplates his next question. (Today, Cecil does not seem to notice that he is violating the supposed ban by City Council.) “How long did you work there?”

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t say. I mean, I _literally_ can’t say. Station Management didn’t like it so much the last time I started talking about the parameters of our contract. Or about them, period.”

“That sounds very rough.” Carlos writes down, ‘NVCR, look into’ and ‘Evil Station Management???’ right next to it.

“Well, I mean aside from the prescribed 3 hours of reverent prayer and occasionally staying late to clean up the blood and viscera left by their latest unfortunate victims, it wasn’t so bad. No job isn’t without its drawbacks, right?”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Carlos underlines ‘evil’ three times.

“Um, Carlos?”

“Yes, Cecil?”

“I…” Cecil turns a very tale-tell shade of red and Carlos already feels very uncomfortable. “I was wondering if you have dinner plans today?”

Carlos thinks. He thinks so hard his pen slips from his grasp and clatters onto the floor. Cecil immediately goes to pick it up.

“Sorry, I guess it was too soon,” the slender man babbles, flustered. “I—um—You know, forget I said anything—“

“Actually,” Carlos interrupts him. “I was going to grab some Subway on the way home from work. Would you like to join me? We can meet at my car.”

Cecil, who had the pen in his hand, lets it drop from his slackened fingers as he turns his face to Carlos. “Okay,” he says.

There is a silence. Carlos waits patiently for Cecil to say something.

“May I be excused to go to the restroom?” Cecil says.

“Of course.” Carlos nods his head.

Cecil straightens himself and calmly walks out the door. The moment the doorknob latches, though, Carlos could hear delighted shrieking. He sincerely hopes he knows what he’s doing.

* * *

 

Historically, when people got close too gods or god-like beings, it never turned out very well for the humans. (The key examples Carlos can recall vividly are the Greek gods and their unfortunate lovers.) But Carlos never really put much thought into religion, and it was futile to escape from Cecil, anyway. So, the psychiatrist takes his time as he heads to his car and thinks on what he’s going to order.

“Carlos!”

He sees Cecil heading his way, dressed in a colorfully printed bowtie, a snazzy black knitted vest over a slimming, white long-sleeved shirt and black slacks that Carlos knows Cecil wouldn't have just _lying around_ the floor of his room. Cecil looks like he’s about to melt.

“Shall we go?” He asks, joyously.

“Ah, yes… of course,” Carlos replies lamely, suddenly feeling severely underdressed in his plaid shirt and jeans. He shoves the idea away immediately because the more pressing matter is how in the world did Cecil escape from a secure behavioral facility?

“How was your day?” Cecil asks, looking genuinely interested despite his supposed omniscience.

“The usual,” Carlos replies as they cruise out of the parking lot and into the street. “The amount of paperwork administration requires is ridiculous.”

“Well, it probably has something to do with that patient who committed suicide on the unit a couple years back.”

Carlos tries very hard to keep his eyes on the road. “Really?”

“Yup. Apparently, he used his pants to hang himself from the doorknob. Naturally, every employee pointed fingers at each other and now everyone shares the blame. That’s why the knobs are so cheap now. They’re non-weight bearing.”

They reach the nearest Subway in twenty minutes.

“Oh, how quaint, this Subway has an easily identifiable exit!” Cecil says as they walk into the building.

“All Subways do,” Carlos points out politely.

Cecil does not appear to have heard him as he makes me way to the line and looks up at the menu. “I wonder if they have the mashed potato sub here…” he wonders.

“I’ve never heard of that sub before.”

“Well, last I heard, it was a special.”

It takes a while for Cecil to order because he insists on having a mashed potato sub with French fries and Nutella. (Carlos almost feels sick at the thought of such a strange sandwich.) Finally, the psychiatrist respectfully interjects by ordering them both black forest ham and turkey subs. Cecil agrees to the order, but looks terribly disappointed.

They slide into their chairs and eat. As Cecil unwraps his sandwich, Carlos feels a small, nagging sensation in the back of his mind. He squints thoughtfully--he is quite certain that he is seeing correctly—but his brain doesn't seem to believe his eyes. However, the psychiatrist is sure that there is nothing out of the ordinary.

Cecil delicately takes a napkin from the table-top dispenser and notices that Carlos is staring at him. He smiles as he wipes away the mix of mashed potato and nutella from his lips. The psychiatrist immediately drops his gaze in embarrassment and bites into his sandwich.

“Can I ask you something, Cecil?” Carlos questions between mouthfuls.

“Of course, Carlos,” Cecil replies, sipping on a concoction of sprite, lemonade, coca-cola and fruit punch.

“Why me? Why did you go through all this to find me? And don’t just say you love me,” the psychiatrist adds as he sees that Cecil is about to gush about something romantic. “There has to be something else.”

Cecil sighs happily. “Oh, Carlos, you’re so smart!” he says.

“Cecil,” Carlos says, trying to bring him back to focus.

“Well…” Cecil takes a bite out of his tobacco cookie. He thinks for a long moment, but he doesn't say anything.

* * *

 

They leave the Subway just as the sun was about to sink into the horizon. Cecil asks if it was alright if they just walked around a little. Deciding that there was no harm in staying out a little longer, Carlos consents.

"You know, that Subway is much better than the last one I went to!" Cecil says.

"Really?" Carlos asks.

"Yes! Last time I went, the staff was rather rude to me! And they absolutely did not avert their gazes from the hooded figures huddled in the booth!"

"Hooded figures?"

"Yep! You know I interviewed one once! It was sorta just standing in my studio when I walked in to do my show so I figured, eh, why not?"

"How did that go?"

"Well, it didn't really answer my questions and my ears bled afterwards. And then I had tinnitus for about two weeks. So it went about as good as one would expect."

"How often do you see these hooded figures, Cecil?"

"Oh, all the time. There's that one in the elementary school playground, and there’s that small group that frequents Big Rico's PIzza... Mostly I see them lurking around the area of the forbidden Dog Park, which I absolutely do not think about too long." Cecil adds, glowing with civic pride.

Carlos sighs softly. “I wish I could understand the things you talk about, Cecil,” he says.

“You can!” Cecil says excitedly. “If you want, I can show you.”

Carlos chuckles. “All right,” he muses.

Cecil gets behind him. “Okay, first you have to close your eyes—no peaking!”

Carlos feels a little uncomfortable about this, but he does as he’s told. He feels Cecil’s hands, warm and soft, carefully come over his eyelids.

“Now,” Cecil’s voice comes again, but it’s different this time.   Sonorous. Calming. “Keep them closed,” Cecil continues. “If you open them, even for a moment, you will miss it.”

Carlos isn’t sure what Cecil means. All he sees is the endless black of his eyelids, but he keeps his eyes closed, just as Cecil’s lovely baritone voice instructed.

“Don’t look for anything,” Cecil intones. “That’s the secret: don’t look for anything. Let the silence surround you.” As Cecil speaks, the noises of the world dial down. The sounds of dogs barking in the distance, cars rolling down the street, people talking amongst themselves as they sit on the benches… All of it fades away at his command. “Let it enfold you.”

Carlos lets it.

“Do not try to think.”

He doesn’t. It sounds like Cecil is everywhere. There is a thrumming feeling that runs up from the soles of his shoes and through his body, steady and solid and true.

“And in a moment, you’ll see it.”

… _Carlos sees it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] “Suddenly, a patient comes rampaging to the nurses’ station and begins banging on the glass and screaming.” I kid you not. This happens.  
> [2] “the shredder bin.” Since healthcare information is protected by what’s called the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA.) Healthcare vendors must dispose of old patient information thoroughly. Units will have at least 1 bin designated as a bin for patient information that will later be fed to an paper shredder. They have a 2-3 inch wide opening at the top of the bin where papers can be slid into. These bins are large and locked down.  
> 


	4. Break Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos wishes he hadn't seen it.

Carlos staggers to the nearest solid, sit-able surface and collapses into it. His breathing is ragged and shallow. His vision is blurry—are his glasses crooked? No, he’s crying. Actually, he might be sobbing.

“Carlos?” Cecil is leaning over him with a look of concern on his face.

The psychiatrist jerks as his brain throbs like a knife was driven straight into his temporal lobes. Carlos groans and shuts his eyes.

“Carlos, are you all right?”

The doctor opens his eyes and looks at the scene in front of him: the side walk, the trees, the people, the benches, the grass. It’s all the same and yet… yet it’s like… It’s like someone is frantically flipping back and forth between two movies that contain the same setting but different stories and characters. Or is it different characters but the same story?

There’s a woman walking by with her eyes shut tight and her head hung low. A dog with a billboard sign cutting straight through his abdomen trots down the street with apparently no discomfort to the addition to his anatomy. On the corner there is a company of boy scouts advertising their group. Well, not that it mattered because the boy scouts are chosen by scarlet envelopes sent to their homes. …How did Carlos know that?

A cluster of hooded figures make their way down the sidewalk. The psychiatrist jumps in terror. A nauseating jolt runs from his eyes to the back of his skull and Carlos is dizzy with pain. When the world refocuses again he sees the group continuing on their way further down the sidewalk. One of the figures turns back to look at him and to avoid meeting his gaze the psychiatrist looks skyward up to the—VOID

VOID

VOID

VOID

VOID

**VOID**

**VOID**

_**VOID**_ —

“Carlos!”

A hand grips his arm just above his elbow and Carlos feels yanked back to his own plane of existence. Back to his normal, boring sidewalk, and his normal, boring street, next to a not-so-normal, not-so-boring man who had just shattered his reality seconds before.

Cecil had settled down next to him on the bench. His hand, warm and steady, is like a vice on his arm. His grip hurts, but the pressure of it anchors Carlos. Cecil fishes a handkerchief from his pocket and holds it out to him.

“Your eyes are bleeding,” he says quietly.

The psychiatrist immediately removes his glasses and touches his right, inner canthus with his fingers. Sure enough, there’s a smudge of blood on his fingerpads when he draws the hand away. Carlos presses the handkerchief over his eyes, draws in a long, shaky breath through his nose, and exhales through his mouth.

“Let me take you home,” Cecil murmurs.

Carlos only nods; his brain is pounding painfully. He feels Cecil grasp him gently by his elbow, pull him up from the bench, and lead him to his car. The silence of their trip is only broken when Cecil announces that they’ve reached the vehicle. Without looking, Carlos shoves his free hand into his pocket and hands him the keys. He lowers the handkerchief just long enough to stumble into the passenger seat.

Cecil doesn’t ask for permission to stay when they finally arrive at Carlos’ house. He escorts Carlos in, carefully sets him down at the couch, and heads to the kitchen without a word. The particular creak of a certain kitchen cupboard tells Carlos everything he needs to know before Cecil sets down a glass filled with ice and the darkest alcohol Carlos owns.

“Thank you,” the doctor mumbles. He places the handkerchief on his coffee table, briefly checks to see if he’s still bleeding—no, not anymore—and raises the drink to his lips. There’s probably some sort of contraindication to drinking alcohol after a freakish ocular hemorrhage but right now Carlos _really_ needs to drink.

Cecil glances at the ground. He waits for Carlos to finish sipping the drink before he speaks up.

“I apologize,” he says. “It was much too soon for you.”

Carlos’ head starts to throb incessantly again and he presses both palms into his forehead with a groan.

“What _are_ you, Cecil? Tell me, honestly,” the doctor pleas.

The fair-haired man doesn’t say anything at first. “I’m human, just like you,” he answers, earning a sarcastic snort from Carlos. Cecil only smiles, undeterred, and continues,

“Well, I suppose you can say I’m a little different. I’ve never lied to you, Carlos. Not ever. My name is Cecil Gershwin Palmer, and I come from Night Vale. I had a mother and a brother, both of whom disappeared mysteriously when I was a teenager. I graduated from Night Vale High School, though, I don’t remember the year. I worked at NVCR. I have a cat named Khoshekh. Sort of. He’s mine, but he’s stuck at fixed point four feet off the ground in the men’s bathroom at the radio station and he’s got the most adorable poisonous spine ridges and the cutest tendrils and—and now I’m rambling.” He cuts himself off when he notices Carlos peering at him with curious expression.

“So cats are poisonous where you come from,” Carlos states offhandedly.

Cecil looks delighted. “Yes!” he says.

“And you come from Night Vale, but not this one.”

The slender man nods enthusiastically. “Yes! Now you’re getting it, Carlos!”

“Why did you come here?”

Cecil does not respond immediately. He makes a gesture with his hand towards the seat next to Carlos, silently asking for permission to sit. The psychiatrist nods and Cecil settles into his spot. The fair-haired man places his elbows on his knees and laces his fingers together.

“Well, you have already surmounted that I have a certain level of omniscience,” he says. “I venture it’s one of the reasons the tablets at City Hall foretold I was going to become the Voice of Night Vale. But anyway, up until about two years and eight months ago, I was perfectly comfortable with my current place in my world. And then…” He glances sideways at Carlos, “I saw you.”

Cecil shuts his eyes and sighs. “It was just a moment. You were wearing a dark blue and white flannel shirt and jeans under a lab coat.   You had a patient’s chart in your hand.” He smiles.  He had obviously committed every detail of this vision to memory.  “Your hair was messy, I think the hospital must have called you in suddenly, but you were still so _perfect._ ”

Carlos feels his cheeks flush. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Either way, he feels embarrassed and somewhat thrilled.

“It was so brief,” the other man continues. “But it was enough. For months I watched you. And then I saw that we would meet, so I went to find you.”

The psychiatrist, feeling a little uncomfortable (or tipsy) decides to take a moment to drink. His head doesn’t hurt so much now.

“Tell me about your Night Vale, Cecil,” Carlos asks gently. “I’d like to hear more.”

“Dearest Carlos, it will be my pleasure,” Cecil purrs, and there is something _rich_ and _potent_ in his voice that hits Carlos in his very bones. It was just like before the doctor was assaulted with visions. “My Night Vale is nothing too extraordinary. It is a friendly desert community, just like yours, where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep…”

* * *

_Carlos wipes the sweat off his brow as he trudges along the sand dunes. The heat is unbearable and suffocating. He shrugged off his lab coat a while ago to cover his head but it doesn’t seem to help. The psychiatrist glances up at the mountain, the single mountain with a red light blinking on and off on and off in the distance._

_The earth rumbles beneath him, almost like its shuddering. Carlos loses his footing and drops to his knees. The rumbling comes again and again, each one stronger than the last. It’s almost rhythmic._

_It’s coming._

_He crawls desperately through the sand, lab coat forgotten. The sand is swirling around his body like water. He’s sinking. The rumbling is deafening now. The sand is up to his chest.  Carlos is crawling at the grains, trying to find purchase, but he can't.  He's sinking.  He can’t—_

* * *

Carlos jerks awake with a gasp. Immediately, he gropes for his glasses on his bedside table. Unfortunately, he had forgotten he had fallen asleep on the couch and slips off.  He lands hard on his shoulder and groans miserably.

“Carlos?” Cecil calls from somewhere.

“Cecil?” Carlos answers back, confused and groggy.  He raises his head and squints at the mass of blurs. Slowly the events of yesterday—the Subway restaurant, the vision about the Void, the late night talk about Cecil’s Night Vale—trickles back into his mind.

A hand gently catches his wrist and the doctor feels his glasses press into his palm.

“Thank you,” Carlos sighs. He slips on his glasses, glances up at the clock in his living room, and nearly chokes. 10:37 AM.

“Don’t worry,” Cecil says. “I’ve already called Josie and said you were taking the day off. She would like me to pass on her warmest congratulations.”

“Oh, God…” the doctor mumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Would you like some coffee?” The fair-haired man asks.

“Yes, please.”

Cecil hands him a mug and heads back to the stove.  "I'm making pancakes.  Is that all right with you?"

"That's sounds good."

Carlos feels like he should be a little more perturbed that Cecil is so comfortable in his own home, but it's too early to be bothered by that right now.  Anyway, the doctor is more interested about other things.

"Cecil?" Carlos says.

"Mm-hm?" the fair-haired man replies as he whisks eggs into a bowel.

"Can I ask you some more questions?  This time more about you?"

Cecil's cheeks flush with excitement.  He's swirling the batter so fast it almost spills out of the bowel.  "Of course, Carlos.  Ask away."

* * *

When Carlos walks into work the next day, Dana is standing by his office door waiting for him. He makes a great effort to ignore the giddy grin on her face.

“Yes, we had dinner,” he says as he unlocks his door. “Yes, he did sleep over. Yes, we spent yesterday together. No, we did not kiss, or have sex, or do anything sexually. We just talked.”

His statements did not dampen her mood at all. In fact, she probably looked more ecstatic. They walk into his office. Carlos settles into his chair while Dana sits in the chair normally used for patients and waits. Her face is swept of anything but complete serenity. Her delicate hands are folded unassumingly on her lap. Carlos takes a deep breath and begins.

“Cecil’s from another Night Vale that is similar to ours, but with far more paranormal and supernatural occurrences,” the psychiatrist begins. “That’s where all his strange stories are from. The one about the Face Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home, the one about Hiram McDaniels, the five-headed dragon who is running for mayor, all of them.

“There’s a certain level of similarities between our Night Vale and Cecil’s, such as an existence of another Dana.”

At this Dana looks very interested.  "Is that so?"

“Apparently the other Dana is a promising intern at Cecil’s NVCR,” Carlos pauses for a moment before he moves onto another subject. “Cecil’s omniscience appears to be something he was born with, and apparently is not limited to one single plane of existence. He can see the past, present, and future, mostly at his own whimsy, and sometimes all at once, which he admitted confuses him at times.  I think that's why sometimes he's okay with using pens and eating bread and other times he's not.

"Occasionally he does receive intrusive visions outside of his control. He doesn’t know the thoughts of the people he is able to see, however, he is very capable of deducing what the people are thinking based on what he is observing.”

“So I’m guessing he saw you in a vision and decided to find you," Dana says.

“Correct.”

Dana smiles. “That’s rather sweet. He left his entire world to come find you.”

“I think… Cecil is able to manipulate reality to a certain extent, which would explain how he is able to sway things into his favor when he dislikes something. Sometimes…” Carlos’ brow furrows as he tries to concentrate. “Sometimes when I look at him my eyes can tell that something is off but my brain doesn’t agree.”

Like that cookie Cecil was eating the day before. That cookie was _wrong_ , Carlos knows it but he can’t put his finger as to why. The psychiatrist sighs heavily.

“So are you going to continue seeing him?” Dana asks.

“How could I not? Cecil is probably the most scientifically interesting person in the entire world!” He throws his arms up in equal parts exasperation and excitement and slumps into his chair.  Dana giggles.

“But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified of him," Carlos adds.

"I would think you crazy if you weren't."

A knock comes on Carlos’ door. The doctor straightens himself up and sees a smartly-dressed woman at his door. Her blonde hair is swept up in a perfect bun and she is holding a clipboard in her right hand.

“Dr. Reyes,” the woman greets.

Dana takes this as her queue to leave. She says a quick good-bye to Carlos, nods to the woman politely, and exits.

“My name is Lauren Mallard,” she introduces herself. “I’m the new Director for Night Vale Behavioral Health. I came by yesterday but they had said you took the day off. I certainly hope everything is all right?”

“Oh, yes,” Carlos replies, clearing his throat nervously. “I was just sick. I’m fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” Lauren chirps. “I just wanted to run through some changes with you. StrexCorp has decided to upgrade the current electronic documentation system of all hospitals in the NIght Vale Health Care System into something, well, better. Diagnostic test results, nurses’ notes, therapists’ notes, consulting physician’s notes and the like will continue to readily available, as always,” she hands out a pamphlet to him, which he politely takes, “but now documents from other hospitals in NVHCS will be available for increased coordination of care between providers. 

"The new system decreases the need for duplicate documentation in regards to the core measures, which I'm sure we can all say is a great relief." She laughs. "This new system is smoother, safer, and much more user-friendly. However, StrexCorp is well aware of the… shall we say _more seasoned_ doctors who struggle with electronic documenting. We will now have a full-time IT staff for any questions or concerns with the new system.”

Carlos’ brows rise up in surprise. “Very efficient,” he says.

“Efficiency and productivity are StrexCorp’s goals,” Lauren beams. “Of course, healthcare providers must be trained in this new system in order to use it properly. On the back of that pamphlet you will find times and dates of classes. We are requiring all staff to complete the class within four weeks.”

“Of course,” Carlos nods. “I will sign up immediately.”

Lauren smiles and her white, white teeth flash in the sunlight. “I look forward to working with you, Dr. Reyes,” she says as she stretches out her hand.

The psychiatrist shakes it warmly. “Please, call me ‘Carlos.’”

She leaves and Carlos takes a few minutes to file some documents away before he sets out to see his patients.  He's about to get to the door when it swings open and reveals a slightly out-of-breath Cecil.

"Cecil, is something wrong?” The psychiatrist asks, alarmed.  The slender man brushes him aside and surveys his office a few times before turning to him.

“Carlos, did...  did something strange happened right now?” He queries.

“Something strange?” Carlos echoes. He thinks for a moment. “Well, Josie gave me a scarf this morning to celebrate what she calls ‘our first date,’” He ignores how hot his cheeks become. “Then I went into my office, spoke with Dana for a little bit, met our new Director…” He trails off when he sees Cecil try very hard to suppress a shudder.

“You couldn’t see me,” the psychiatrist concludes.

“Not after you spoke to Dana,” Cecil says. “You reappeared when you began sorting out your papers."  He pauses, struggling to find the next words he's about to say. "There are times when I get... 'censored,' I suppose would be the word.  It happens whenever I try to see Station Management or the City Council's true forms or whenever the Glow Cloud is near, but I'm always aware of it when it happens. This time it's like you fell out of my radar entirely."

“And you think this has something to do with my new administrator?  Here, sit down.”  Carlos ushers Cecil towards the chair. 

“Your Director and whatever master she serves," the fair-haired man answers.

The psychiatrist can see he's shaking. He’s afraid.  No, he’s _terrified._ Carlos feels his stomach twist. If Lauren is something even someone like Cecil is afraid of… Good God. The psychiatrist feels sick.

“StrexCorp Synernists Incorporated," the doctor supplies. "They’re now the major shareholders of the hospital.”

The fair-haired man swallows nervously, his fingers knit together in front of him and he looks like he is trying very hard on regulating his breathing. 

“What do you think they want?” the doctor asks quietly.

“I don’t know.” Cecil shuts his eyes tightly. “I don’t know I—“ He groans. “Why can’t I see it?” He leans forward and rests his elbows on Carlos’ desk. His face is a mixture of concentration, frustration, and anxiety. Beads of sweat break on his forehead as he concentrates hard. “Come on come on come on…”

He's shaking again.  Carefully and gently, Carlos places his hand on Cecil’s shoulder. (Something in the back of his mind briefly nags that he was breaking patient-doctor boundaries but fuck it. Cecil is a mostly-omniscient, god-like super-being from another dimension and their new management probably isn’t human.)

“It’s all right, Cecil,” he assures him. “We’ll figure this out together.”

Cecil gasps softly and looks up at him. “Really?”

“Yes—“ The word barely leaves his lips before Cecil leaps out of his chair and throws his arms around Carlos’ neck, nearly knocking psychiatrist off balance.

“Oh, Carlos!” Cecil says and buries his face into Carlos’ collar.

The doctor, face flaming with embarrassment, manages to gingerly pat Cecil’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, there's a lot of dialogue in this chapter.  
> Just FYI: Cecil was also eating that mashed potato-french fry-nutella monstrosity at the Subway, but Carlos didn’t catch that.


	5. Espionage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josie deems them “Team Anti-Strex.” Cecil almost faints.

Carlos updates Dana within the hour and by lunch time she has already formulated a legitimate battle plan.

“Did you know,” she begins as she slides into an unoccupied chair in the lunchroom. “That our friendly local business StrexCorp started right about 2 years ago?”

“I’m guessing around the time Cecil showed up here, you mean,” Carlos ventures.

“Correct,” Dana nods. “Started off small, grew into a rather large corporation in a fairly short amount of time, and elbowed its way into Night Vale General a few short weeks ago.”

“And later on Night Vale Behavioral’s administration,” the doctor concludes.

“So Cecil didn’t know anything about StrexCorp or our new Director?”

“No, I didn’t,” Cecil says.

Carlos turns to his left and squints his eyes. He was certain—

“What do you think that means?” Dana asks the fair-haired man.

“I don’t know,” Cecil admits, looking down-trodden. “I’ve never encountered anything like this before! Even Station Management’s occasional memory wipes weren’t this potent. Though, it’s not like that ever kept them from trying.” He rolls his eyes.

“StrexCorp is planning on throwing a party this Saturday for all hospital staff,” Dana says. “I think it’d be a good opportunity for Carlos, Josie, and I to see what we’re up against.”

Cecil looks instantly concerned and the psychiatrist knows why. The slender man won’t be able to see them and that frightens him. “I want to—“

“No,” Carlos and Dana say in unison.

“Cecil, you can’t come with us. I think—and maybe Carlos is thinking this too—that StrexCorp is here for you. I feel it would be better if you stay out of this.”

“We’ll be fine, Cecil,” Carlos promises.

“I don’t like this,” Cecil confesses. “I’m not used to being so blind.”

“Welcome to the world of mortals,” Carlos comments with a humorous smile.

Cecil frowns. “I don’t know how anyone can live like this,” he sighs and reaches for the doctor’s hands. “Carlos, please be careful.”

“I will, Cecil.”

“Josie and I will also be in danger too, Cecil. Don’t forget about us,” Dana says she takes a swig from her water bottle to hide a smile.

* * *

Lauren isn’t seen around the behavioral facility throughout the week. When the psychiatrist wakes up on Saturday morning, he could scarcely believe the week passed by so fast. Though, he quickly becomes more concerned with the fact that Cecil is cooking bacon and eggs in his kitchen. Again.

“Cecil, you really have to stop dropping by unannounced,” Carlos says as he slides into his dining room chair.

“Do you not like it?” Cecil asks from the stove.

“It’s just… a little weird. And thank you,” the doctor adds as Cecil sets a hot cup of coffee in front of him.

“Well, you can’t expect me to sit around in my room while you, Dana and Josie go off and face the… the… whatever the hell StrexCorp is!” Cecil argues as he jabs the spatula under the eggs and flips them over.

“I understand you’re worried,” Carlos begins, “however it still doesn’t warrant you coming into my house without my permission. It’s not that I don’t like it, Cecil, but it’s just not polite.”

Cecil slides the cooked eggs into a plate. “All right. I’ll contact you before I visit next time,” he agrees and brings the plate to the dining table.

Carlos is about to ask if Cecil already has his number (or a cell phone, for that matter), but then decides he should probably just eat his breakfast.

* * *

Carlos is the first to arrive in the parking lot of Night Vale General’s Convention Building. (“Coincidentally funded by StrexCorp,” he remembered Dana stating.) He straightens his tie and smoothes back his hair as he waits.

Josie’s car pulls up in the parking space next to him. Carlos goes to help his administrator out of her car, but she waves him off.

“I’m not _that_ old!” She insists as she capably sets her cane on the asphalt and shuts her car door behind her. “Honestly, you reach the 60-year-old mark and suddenly everyone thinks you’re an invalid.”

“Sorry, Josie,” Carlos apologizes.

“I imagine Cecil’s worrying himself to bits over you right now.”

“You’ve no idea,” the doctor sighs.

“Maybe you should show him some lovin’ tonight to make up for it?”

Carlos almost gags on his own spit. “…That was completely uncalled for,” he mutters when he recovers.

She only laughs good-naturedly. “Ah, young love.”

The psychiatrist is about to say something in his defense when he spots Dana’s car.

“Now that the last member of Team Anti-Strex has arrived, we can get this show on the road,” Josie says as Dana approaches them. “Remember: we’re only here to observe. Keep each other in your line of sight and absolutely _do not_ do anything stupid. Is that understood?” She points the head of her cane at each of them in turn.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dana and Carlos say in unison.

“All righty, then. Let’s go.”

They enter the double doors. The convention building has been decked out with varying shades of orange and yellow. A great banner bearing the StrexCorp name and logo is high above them. The three of them all sign their names in the sign-in sheets and proceed into the main ballroom.

The main ballroom was decorated in the same color scheme as the hallway. There were round tables draped in light yellow cloth adorned with the StrexCorp logo. In the back of the ballroom was a long table for the food. Nothing had been set out yet, so a majority of the attendees were lounging in the table area and chatting. There is a group of StrexCorp employees (distinguishable by their yellow ties decorated with orange triangles) at a table talking animatedly amongst themselves. Looking closely, Carlos sees that the group is all dressed in crisp white shirts, black slacks, and patent-leather dress shoes. Their hair was all styled the same: short and gelled back.

Carlos sees some of his old colleagues from the ER sitting at a nearby table.

“What’s up?” Dana asks.

“Just some old friends of mine from NVGH,” Carlos answers.

“Hmmm. StrexCorp seems to have bought their way into the entire Greater Metropolitan Health Care System,” Josie says as she scans the room. “There’s the CEO of Night Vale South over there along with the Director of Desert Bluffs Medical Center. Oh, and there’s that horrid DON **[1]** from Selene Hospice. That woman is wretched!”

One dark-skinned man with black hair rises from his seat and walks over to him.

“Carlos!” he says. “It’s good to see you!”

Carlos stands up and shakes his hand. “Amelio, it’s been too long,” he replies amiably. “Josie, Dana, this is Amelio Diaz, the Director of the NVGH’s ER.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dana beams.

“Good evening,” Josie says nods in acknowledgement.

“I was worried for a while,” Amelio says. “When I heard about what happened, well… _Te mires bien._ ”

Carlos laughs. “ _Gracias a Dios, si.”_

 _“¿Donde trabajas ahora?_ ”

“ _A Night Vale Behavioral_.”

Amelio raises an eyebrow. ” _Cambiendo de recibir terapia a dar a terapia, ¿eh?”_

 _“Supongo.”_ Carlos says with a false smile to hide how uncomfortable the conversation was. He hoped his two co-workers didn’t hear. The psychiatrist sees out of the corner of his eye that Dana was preoccupied with an irritable Josie who was making rude gestures at the DON from Selene Hospice. The DON from Selene Hospice, a nurse of about 45 years with graying hair and a severe face, was returning Josie’s gesticulations with vigor.

“Josie, please,” Dana implored.

“She started it!” Josie argued in her defense.

“ _Bueno_ ,” the other doctor says with a good-natured laugh. “I don’t think I can convince you to return? We could use another ER doctor.”

Carlos waves him off. “No, no, I’m very happy where I am. Thank you.”

“Testing, testing, can everyone hear me?” comes a familiar voice. Amelio quickly excuses himself and returns to his table.

Carlos sees Lauren Mallard with a microphone at the front of the room. She still looks as prim and proper as he had last seen her.

“Good evening everyone!” She says, grinning proudly. “As you all may know, my name is Lauren Mallard, and I suppose you could say I’m the liaison between StrexCorp and NV Healthcare. On behalf of StrexCorp I would like to personally thank you for coming. Everyone one of you is valuable to StrexCorp, so let’s look forward to a brighter and more productive future!”

There is a polite applause. The group of StrexCorp employees clap their hands energetically with large smiles on their faces. The doors open and waiters dressed in StrexCorp colors enter and set out the food.

“Please, eat,” Lauren says, motioning towards the long tables with her hand.

The party-goers rise and shuffle towards the table. With a discreet movement of her cane, Josie urges that they get in line behind the StrexCorp employees, who are jovially talking about Lauren.

“You know I hardly get to see Lauren Mallard,” says one.

“I know! She’s so important, I’m so happy to have seen her in person,” states the other.

They don’t talk about anything vaguely interesting, mostly about how happy they are and how great StrexCorp is.

“Carlos, good to see you!” Lauren chirps as she approaches the line. The StrexCorp employees

“Good evening, Lauren,” Carlos says with a polite smile.

“I’m glad you were able to attend. Oh!” She leans towards him. “Listen, I hate to bring up work while we’re having this great company party, but I’ve been looking at over the files of patients in Behavioral. There’s a few I’d like to discuss with you and Josie. How about Monday at noon? Lunch is on StrexCorp, naturally.”

So they _do_ want Cecil _,_ Carlos realizes grimly.He had hoped he was wrong. As calmly as he can, Carlos ladles some gravy over his mashed potatoes.

“Sure,” Carlos replies.

“Fantastic,” Lauren beams. “Josie, what about you?”

“I’m sure I can make arrangements,” Josie answers, giving away nothing but a façade of sweet, grandmotherly kindness. She’s a far better actor than he is. Carlos swallows and hopes he gave a convincing enough performance.

“Monday at noon it is,” the blonde confirms. “If you will excuse me...”

Dana is looking wide-eyed at both of them.

“Dana, don’t dawdle,” Josie says pleasantly. They continue on down the line and return to their table. Carlos watches Lauren as she flits from table to table and chats with the other attendees. Unfortunately, no one else from StrexCorp comes. They had hoped for a chance to speak with someone else from StrexCorp.

Dana and Carlos decide to sit at the table of StrexCorp employees for a few minutes and engage them in some conversation.

“Hi, do you mind if we sit here?” Dana asks.

“Not at all, friends!” says one.

The group quickly makes room of them to sit.

“I’m Dana,” she introduces. “And this is Carlos.”

The psychiatrist gives his friendliest smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you!” The group chimes together.

“I’m Allen,” says the one who first greeted them. The rest lean forward and introduce themselves.

“Bob.”

“I’m Caleb.”

“David. It’s such a nice evening, isn’t it?”

“Ernest.”

“So, where do you all work in StrexCorp?” Dana asks.

“Well, Allen and I are liaisons at NVGH,” says Bob.

“Sure are,” Allen says happily.

“We’re at NV-South,” says Caleb and David.

“I manage the hospice, rehab, and nursing facilities,” says Ernest.

“So are you guys happy working with StrexCorp?” Carlos asks.

“Most definitely!”

“Absolutely!”

“Where else would anyone work?” David says. “You know, ever since StrexCorp got into the Night Vale school board they’ve revolutionized the entire education system! My eleven-year-old girl is already taking college credit courses!” He beams proudly.

“Show-off,” Caleb says, rolling his eyes.

“That’s amazing,” Dana says.

“And you know that old ice cream shoppe run by the Gutierrez? Well, StrexCorp acquired it a few weeks ago and now it’s much cleaner,” says Allen.

“And I like the ice cream more,” adds Bob, nodding.

“Oh, you know what my favorite ice cream is?” says Ernest. “Vanilla. I just _love_ vanilla.”

“Ooh, me too!” chimes Allen.

“Me three!” says Bob.

“Me four!” says Caleb.

“Me five!” finishes David. “What’s your favorite ice cream?” he asks Carlos and Dana.

“Uh, Rocky Road,” Carlos answers, a little weirded out.

“Pistacchio and almond,” replies Dana. “Hey listen, Carlos and I really like StrexCorp too, and we like to meet more people who work there.”

“You can always talk to Lauren,” says Allen.

“Lauren’s the best!” says Bob.

The other employees nod enthusiastically.

“We’d like to speak more people,” Dana says politely. “For example, Lauren’s boss.”

“Ohh…” says Caleb. “Well, the higher ups are _always_ so busy running StrexCorp.”

“We don’t really meet them,” says Ernest. “Who would want to? We have Lauren and she’s such a delight!”

The conversations really end up going nowhere aside from pleasantries. Dana and Carlos do find out the scope of StrexCorp’s influence (everything and anything, apparently) which is very worrisome. Jose returns with less comforting news.

“None of the administrators from the other facilities know much about StrexCorp,” she says, settling back down in her seat with a piece of cake. “Though I think it’s interesting to note that our little behavioral facility is the only one Lauren manages directly.”

Carlos keeps an eye on Lauren. She seems to have said all that she needed to say to them. The blonde does not approach them for the rest of the party.

* * *

Cecil practically tackles Carlos when he walks through his door.

“Carlos, you’re back!” Cecil cries out joyously. “I was so worried!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, Cecil,” Carlos assures him as he makes his way into his living room with the slender man practically hanging from his neck.

“Josie? Dana?”

“They’re fine too. We’re all fine.”

“Did you find anything out?”

“Well, we’re now 100% certain they want you, but we still don’t know why. Lauren wants to meet me and Josie on Monday to discuss… patients.”

Cecil doesn’t miss the ulterior motive of the meeting. He becomes unreadable and silent as Carlos removes his shoes and loosens his tie.

“Will… will it be all right if I stay here for tonight?” Cecil asks at last. “I don’t feel safe staying the behavioral facility unless you’re there.”

Carlos thinks on this for a few moments. He considers asking Cecil to stay at Dana’s but realizes he doesn’t want him to stay with Dana. He wants Cecil to stay _here._ With him. Carlos is so incredulously caught up in his own thoughts he barely registers Cecil speaking.

“…not all right with you, that’s okay. I’m sure Dana or Josie—“

“No, Cecil, it’s all right, you can stay with me.”

The slender man looks so elated it seems like he’s about to float off the floor. “Really? I mean, are you sure? Like, really sure?” he flusters. “I’ll only stay if you’re really sure, I don’t want to be pushy or anything…”

“It’s no trouble at all. Do you need something more comfortable to change into?”

If Cecil’s face becomes any more red, the doctor is certain he is going to pass out. “Um, maybe?” His voice has risen in pitch to an almost squeak.

“I think I have some spare clothes you can change into. Come on.”

Carlos shows the fair-haired man to his bedroom, fishes out a t-shirt and cotton pants from his closet and hands it to Cecil, who may very well drop to the floor at any moment. The psychiatrist steps out of his closet to allow Cecil to change.

“You can have my bed. I can sleep on the couch,” Carlos says.

“I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed,” Cecil protests quietly and there’s something else behind his reticent eyes and soft voice that makes the doctor’s ears tingle. He swallows thickly and meets Cecil’s gaze.

Carlos thinks on Cecil’s conviction in his vision. The doctor had thought with such certainty that there had to be some way out of the slender man’s infallible omniscience, but here they were: in Carlos’ bedroom, regarding each other with an air of thick (possibly sensual) tension. Was it really inevitable that they were going to be together?

“Cecil, um,” Carlos starts, running a hand nervously through his dark hair. “…can you… see what’s going to happen next?”

“I don’t look,” Cecil replies. “I mean, sometimes I can't stop it but I try not to.  After I saw I would meet you, I stopped looking into that future because I didn’t want to spoil anything. I wanted to experience every moment with you for myself,” the slender man anxiously clears his throat and smiles timidly. “And right now I-I... I would very much like to share your bed with you, Carlos.”

The doctor can feel his face growing stark red, but he answers, “Okay.”

Without taking his eyes off Cecil, Carlos reaches for the night switch and turns out the light. He feels Cecil’s warm hand slide into his own. Carlos leads them to the bed and they slip under the covers without saying a word. The fair-haired man cuddles up against his chest—he’s so _warm_ —and at that point the doctor dips his head down and brushes his lips against his forehead. Cecil glances up, even in the dark Carlos can see his violet eyes shining. Carlos leans down just as Cecil raises his head high enough to meet his lips.

The kiss is brief, but the feel of Cecil’s soft mouth sends a jolt of electricity down Carlos’ entire spine. Cecil rests his head at a cozy place between Carlos’ shoulder and his neck with a content sigh while Carlos wraps an arm around his waist and draws him close.

* * *

_Carlos walks through a cozy, neat house.  He doesn't see anyone._

_"Interning is going great!" says a voice that seems so familiar but so young. "Mom is gone, um… Oh! Leonard is super nice to me! My brother’s gone, too. Family, right?"_

_Carlos urgently searches for the voice—for the young Cecil.  He finds him standing in front of the hall mirror with an old-fashioned tape recorder in his hand.  He looks to be about 15-years-old, skinny, but lanky with the onset of puberty, and he has much more color in his face.  The teen Cecil doesn't appear to have seen him.  The doctor notices that he doesn't even see his own reflection in the mirror, only Cecil's and..._

_...and something else.  It stands between him and Cecil like a smog, but Carlos can't quite see it._

_Cecil continues to speak, "Leonard said if I work hard, maybe I’ll be a radio presenter myself some day!  Leonard said he once was smaller too, but that he is larger now—that everything is larger.  That everything in the universe is growing to towering sizes, but all at once—all in unison.  So no one notices, and it is all the same relative to itself.  Leonard lolls his tongue out of his thick, purple lips. Leonard hisses.  Being an intern is great!" Cecil beams happily.  The smile dissolves into a look of concern._

_"That flickering movement is everywhere now," he says uneasily. "Especially looking in this mirror. I see the flickering movement, and I_ know _. I know it."_

_Carlos can see the movement too, and it is becoming clearer and clearer with each passing second._

_"I think the radio station is fun," the teen continues slowly, assuring himself.  "I think the radio station is hidden. I think the radio station is like a dark planet lit by no sun. I think, therefore I soon won’t be..."  Cecil glances at the reflection of the thing in the mirror.  He doesn't seem to be able to see it yet, but Carlo can.  He can see it now and it is **terrifying** and advancing towards the teen._

_"Cecil," Carlos calls.  "Cecil!" He tries to move, to sprint from his spot and save him but he can't—Oh God oh God... "Cecil!!"_

_"I’m looking in a mirror. The mirror is not covered. The flickering movement is just…behind me. I—"_

_"CECIL!!!"_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] “Oh, and there’s that horrid DONfrom Selene Hospice.” DON: Director of Nurses.
> 
> The bit from the Cassette Tape Episode was thanks in large part to http://cecilspeaks.tumblr.com. I did not transcribe it myself and I take no credit for it. 
> 
> I don’t know how to make it so that translation floats over the words, but here’s Carlos and Amelio’s conversation in English. My Spanish isn’t the best, so Spanish-speakers please forgive me for bad grammar.
> 
> “When I heard about what happened, well… You look good.” (Meaning Carlos looks well/healthy. He’s not necessarily contemplating his looks.)
> 
> Carlos laughs. “Thank God, yes.”
> 
> “Where do you work now?”
> 
> “At Night Vale Behavioral.”
> 
> Amelio raises an eyebrow. ”Switching from receiving therapy to giving therapy, eh?”
> 
> “I suppose.” Carlos says with a false smile.


End file.
